


Early Sunday Mass

by Welfycat



Category: Leverage
Genre: Community: angst_bingo, Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welfycat/pseuds/Welfycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing outside a church is a terrible place to think and remember. Episode Tag to The Miracle Job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Sunday Mass

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Angst Bingo; Prompt: Religion  
> Content Notes: Continued grieving for a canon character death.

Nate stood outside of Saint Nicholas, his arms folded as he leaned against the cold stone wall. The doors were open and a few of the local parishioners had straggled inside and gathered in the front pews. Early morning Sunday mass was getting ready to start; there would be more people at the second mass which started at the somewhat more reasonable hour of nine a.m., but Nate didn't feel any more comfortable coming when there would be more people. He doubted that he would ever feel comfortable in a church again.

He thought that it should be raining and cold with overcast skies. Maybe some thunder and lightening to fit his mood. Los Angeles rarely had weather like that. It was far more likely for the church to be enveloped in a haze of smog. But the day was clear, the sky already deep blue despite the early hour and Nate could feel the heat of the sun soaking into his suit. He shouldn't have come here and he shouldn't have worn black and a tie. Too many reminders. The minute he closed his eyes, even blinked for a moment too long, the memories would come flooding back. He could see, in his mind's eye, Maggie leaning down to straighten the back of Sam's suit jacket. Sometimes he had sat and marveled at the tiny clothes, the tiny body that he could pick up and sit on his shoulder. That tiny body shaking with laughter as tiny hands clung in his hair and to his forehead. And later, that tiny body convulsing and then still and limp.

Nate shook himself, realizing that he had let his eyes close as he leaned against the wall of the church. He'd known this was a bad idea, even as he'd gotten up in the morning - early and sober - and tied his tie around his neck as surely as he'd been tying a noose.

He'd gone by headquarters first, finding the place he'd made with the help of the rest of the team a necessary comfort. Eliot had been the only one there, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, the newspaper spread out in front of him and his glasses perched delicately in front of his eyes. Nate had watched for a moment as Eliot sipped his coffee and turned the page, seemingly unaware of Nate's presence. Of course that wasn't the case; Eliot was always hyperaware of his surroundings and had known the instant that Nate had entered the suite of rooms and had known that it was Nate and not one of the other team members or someone coming after them. What Nate was only starting to appreciate, particularly in comparison to some of the other members of the team, was Eliot's unusual sense of discretion and personal space. If it wasn't something that effected him directly, Eliot would look the other way without ever letting you realize that he'd noticed in the first place. Most of the time, at least. The other thing Nate was discovering was that Eliot had a strong need for justice and for people to be treated right, especially within the team.

So when Nate had slipped back out, his suit and the early hour probably a giant red flag as to where he was going, Eliot had just turned another page in the paper. It was unexpected, if nice in it's own way, to know that Eliot would still be there when Nate was done in the world and if he wanted he could go back to headquarters and have coffee and read the newspaper with him. There wouldn't be any awkward questions about where he'd been or his _feelings_ on the subject. Just coffee and the newspaper, and Eliot silently noticing when he added a splash of brandy to his mug.

Nate leaned around the edge of the wall, watching through the open doors as Father Paul climbed up to the pulpit with his robes swaying and a warm expression as he looked out over the congregation. Nate knew that even though Paul had invited him, practically insisted considering they'd just saved his church, Paul wasn't really expecting him to show up. Nate had abandoned the church as thoroughly as he'd abandoned the rest of his life after Sam's death. Or maybe abandoned wasn't the right word, because it had been far more purposeful than that, even if he hadn't realized it at the time. When he'd left IYS, his wife, the city, his church, Nate had become a different person. It had taken nearly two years for him to get back to a place where he was a walking and functioning human being again, even though most of the time when they weren't working a job he still felt like an automaton, but he'd been melted down and reforged. There was nothing of that Nathan Ford left in him except for the body he was still wearing as uncomfortably and as ill-fitting as his suit.

He turned away as Paul greeted his congregation, his voice loud and clear enough that Nate could easily hear him from the entrance.

"The lord be with you."

Nate turned and fled before he could hear the answering call of "and also with you."


End file.
